


Please hang up and try again

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke is pretty pissed when she gets a call from the hospital on her day off. She's just plain confused when it turns out they're calling her because some random guy listed her as his emergency contact.





	Please hang up and try again

Clarke is mildly annoyed to see her phone light up with the hospital's number, buzzing incessantly against the couch. She hates getting called in when she's _actually_  on-call. Getting called in on her day off, when she's already eight episodes deep into a Prison Break binge, is even worse.

She's pretty sure Maya is on shift tonight, and since Maya is the kind of friend Clarke can threaten with bodily harm without any love lost between them, she swipes to answer and sighs, "Whatever huge emergency I'm getting called in on my _day off_  to deal with, it better be able to wait because I'm in my pajamas and there are hardly any trains running at this time of night."

There's an unexpected pause on the line.

"Clarke?"

"Yeah, did you not mean to call me?" She asks hopefully. "Does this mean I don't have to come in?"

"No, uh--" Maya stutters. "I mean-- We don't need you here but... you might still want to come in? There's a patient in the ER who gave us your number for his emergency contact."

Clarke frowns. "Who is it?"

"I can't really understand him, he's slurring pretty bad," says Maya, sounding as exasperated as Clarke has ever heard her. "It sounds like he's saying his name is Baloney but I'm honestly just not willing to accept that. Even with the way people name their kids these days."

"And he gave you my number."

"We're having trouble getting much out of him. He just keeps telling us to call 'O,' whoever that is, and then rattling off-- Well, this number. He must be confused."

"Or just really drunk," Clarke sighs, standing and shoving her feet into the first clean pair of pants she comes across on her floor. "He doesn't have anyone else with him?"

"No. We're pretty swamped tonight, but I could keep an eye on him until he sobers up, I guess."

"I'm on my way in. On the off-chance I actually do know him."

"Okay. See you soon."

She turns the mystery over in her mind the whole Uber ride over. It could be Roan, drunk and thinking he's funny. Or it could be Jasper, or even Finn in a moment of epic stupidity. No matter who it is-- a friend, an ex, or even a drunk, confused stranger-- she's pissed that they're making her come into work on her day off. Whoever they are, they're going to get a piece of her mind.

But then the man-- who does turn out to be a drunk, confused stranger, albeit a _hot_ one-- tries to pick a fight before she can even open her mouth.

"You're not O," he accuses. Even with sweaty hair, a broken arm, and listing slightly to one side, he's very, very pretty.

"And you're neither Michael Scofield nor my couch, so I guess we're both pretty disappointed," she says, cool, crossing her arms and picking up his chart. He frowns.

"You can't read that."

"No?"

"It's mine." He leans forward to grab for the chart with his good arm and Clarke easily moves it out of his reach.

"It's okay, I'm your doctor." Hot guy squints at her. He's either a suspicious drunk or more cognizant of his surroundings than she expected, if he remembers whom his doctor is supposed to be. Before he can slur anything else in her general direction she asks, "Is your name really Baloney?"

"Are you really my doctor?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

He sighs with incredible dramatic flair and flops back on the bed, mumbling something Clarke can't make out.

"What was that?"

"I said I'm _Bellamy_. Where did the cat go?"

Clarke pauses, pen poised over the chart. "Is it just alcohol in your system or are you high on something stronger?"

"The _cat_ ," he repeats again, agitated. "It's purple."

Clarke blinks at him, biting back on a smile. "Are you-- Hang on one sec." She steps out into the waiting room and finds, lying on one of the patient chairs, one of the stuffed animals they offer to hurt kids who come in. She usually tells the kids who come in with broken bones or other non-contagious issues that they can squeeze the cat as tight as they want and it will take on all their pain.

She has no idea how Bellamy-- if that really is his name (she isn't convinced)-- wound up with it out in the waiting room but if it'll get him to cooperate, she'll try it.

Sure enough, he brightens when she brings it in to him, setting it on his lap like a real pet and stroking its fur with his good hand.

"Better?"

He considers. "Not worse."

"That's about as much as we can expect from the cat, I guess. So can you tell me what all is in your system?"

He furrows his brow. "The chili cheese fries were really not a good idea."

"They rarely are. Did you take any drugs?"

"No, just-- fucking tequila."

"Fucking tequila," she agrees, shaking her head and trying not to laugh.

"I don't think doctors are supposed to say that to their patients."

"Tequila?"

"Fucking."Clarke can't help but laugh this time and the corners of his mouth tick up as if he's pleased he wrested it out of her.

"I'm probably not," she agrees. "But you caught me on my night off."

"I _knew_ it. Well, I didn't _know_ it but I knew-- something."

"That remains to be seen. Can I call someone for you?"

"They called O."

"What was the number you gave them? To make sure they have it right." He rattles off numbers slowly, a couple at a time, painstakingly slow. "Yeah, no. That's my number," she tells him, and he frowns. "Do you have it in your phone?"

"Pocket," he grunts, squirming as he crosses his good arm across his body, trying to get the right angle to maneuver his phone out. After a good minute of watching him struggle, Clarke goes over and bats his hand away, reaching for it herself. But when she punches the button, nothing happens.

"Dead," she sighs. "One sec, I'll go set this up to charge."

"Hey!" He calls after her, indignant. "That fake doctor stole my phone!"

Clarke rolls her eyes at Murphy and Maya sitting at the nurse's station, digging around in a drawer for the spare charger she knows is in there somewhere.

"You good?" Murphy asks, not even looking up from the paperwork he's flipping through. Even with his feet up on the desk, looking like the last thing he wants to do is move, Clarke knows if a drunk patient was giving her any trouble he'd be the first one on the scene.

"I'm fine. I gave him the cat and it calmed him down a little." Murphy snorts and she turns to grin at Maya. "His name isn't Baloney, by the way. It's Bellamy."

"And you don't know him?"

"Nope. But as soon as this turns on, we'll hopefully be able to track down the mysterious O."

"Sorry you had to come all the way down here."

"Don't worry about it. I'll wait with him until we can call his-- person. Maybe get some more actual information out of him."

"Better you than me," says Murphy.

"At almost everything," Clarke agrees.

When she gets back in the room, Bellamy is glaring at her.

"You took my phone."

"I plugged it in so we can call O." She drags a chair over and slumps into it. "Who's O?"

"She lives in Texas."

"Thanks, that really narrows it down." She pauses. "Wait a second. If O lives in Texas, why do you want us to call her?"

"She won't talk to me."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "That's really not our job. Is there someone more local we can call for you? In the same city would be good."

"Maybe Miller. He'll laugh at me but he lives here. Not _here_  like the hospital, but like-- here." He makes a large gesture with his good hand.

Clarke smiles in spite of herself. "Do any of your friends have normal names?"

"Octavia is normal," he insists, with the air of someone who has had this conversation a million times.

"It's really not. Neither is Miller. Or-- It's Bellamy, right? Bellamy--"

"Blake. Bellamy Blake." He squints at her again. "Now you."

"I'm Clarke."

"That's not that normal either. Doctor Clarke."

"Doctor Clarke," she agrees. "So, Bellamy Blake, what did you do to your arm?"

He glowers down at it. "Stairs are hard for a lot of people. Doctors aren't supposed to judge."

"Oh, we judge people all the time. Just usually not to their faces." She pauses. "Although when I was in college I did slip on some icy stairs once and bruised my tailbone."

"Exactly." He points at her. "See? Stairs. They're a menace. You see this one?" He points to his lip where she can see a small scar. "Tripped running _up_ stairs. Who does that?"

"Was there fucking tequila then too?"

"No." He gives her a _duh_  look. "Nine-year-olds can't drink."

"Obviously. Should've known."

He squints at her again. "Where are your scrubs?"

"At home. I told you, it's my day off. Did you lose your contacts or something?"

"Huh?"

"You keep squinting to see me."

"Oh." He rummages in his pocket-- the closer one this time-- and produces a pair of glasses that has been snapped right in half. "I landed on them, I think. When I fell. Or stepped on them. There was some part of me on them that shouldn't have been and they broke."

"That sucks."

"Yeah." He stares down at them forlornly. "The train is a lot harder when you can't see."

Clarke raises her eyebrows. "You took the train here? Drunk and blind and alone with a broken arm?"

The look he gives her says _duh_ even louder than before. "You should never drink and drive, Doc."

"And I'm very glad you took that to heart."

Just then, Murphy steps in with Bellamy's phone in his hand. "It's at twelve percent. Should be enough to call somebody, then we can plug it back in."

"Thanks." She takes the phone and hits a button. "Passcode?"

"O's birthday."

"Am I just supposed to know when that is?"

"August twelfth."

"Thank you." She thumbs through his contacts. "I'm assuming it's Miller with the middle finger emoji and not David Miller?"

"Yeah. Hey, what are you--"

"Shh, I'm on the phone." He frowns at her but his mouth snaps shut, Murphy casting an amused glance between them. It rings a couple times, and then--

"Dude, if this isn't a literal emergency I'm going to kick your ass. You know it freaks me out when you call instead of--"

"This is Dr. Griffin at Ark Memorial."

"Shit." Miller must go somewhere else because it gets a lot quieter on his end of the phone. "So this is an actual emergency."

"He fell down some stairs and broke his arm. Not life-threatening, but if you or someone else could come get him and take him home, he's still pretty drunk."

"I can take--" Bellamy starts to say, then starts over, louder, so Miller can hear. "I can take the train home! I can."

"No chance. Tell him Monty and I are on our way."

"Will do."

"I can take the train," Bellamy mumbles when he sees that he has her attention again. She gives him a wry smile.

"You probably can, but who am I to deprive your friend of the chance to laugh at you?"

"Mean doctor," he sighs, tipping his head back again. "Why are you here if it's your day off?"

"Some idiot got super drunk, broke his arm, and gave them my number to call."

"Oh." He grimaces. "Sorry. I thought it was O's number."

"Your-- girlfriend? Or maybe ex-girlfriend, if she's not speaking to you."

He makes a face. "Sister. She thinks I hover too much, so she's gone radio silence."

Clarke bites back on a smile. He's still _so_  cute.

"Is that why you got so drunk?"

"No, I lost a bet with my coworkers." He gives her a contemplative look. "Do you have any weird games on your phone?"

Clarke dosesn't hold her smile back this time. "I have _so many_  weird games on my phone."

By the time his friends get to the hospital, she's pulled her chair up next to his bed so he can watch and they can bicker over a) whether there is any strategy to these games at all, and b) whether her strategy is the right one, and she's having a pretty good time. She's hardly even annoyed that she's not on her couch at home. 

"Dude," the taller of his friends says, smirking. Bellamy smiles at him.

"I know. Thanks for coming, man."

"Oh, we wouldn't miss this," the other guy says, holding up his phone and snapping a picture. "I'm sending this to your sister, by the way. She's either gonna be pissed or she's gonna want to gloat but either way she'll definitely call you."

"At least you have a plan."

"Never say we aren't here for you." He turns to Clarke. "Hi, I'm Monty."

"Dr. Griffin. Clarke." She gives them a short wave. "That must make you Miller?"

"Yeah." He eyes her critically. "You're the one who called me?"

"Wanted to make sure they got the right number this time."

"I was _really_ _sure_ I remembered O's, but it got her instead." Miller shakes his head, fond. 

"You're going to regret so many things in the morning."

"I think he's sobering up enough to start regretting them right now," Clarke says, cheerful. "I guess you guys can take him from here?"

"Yeah, we got him. Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Bellamy says, a little warmer, a little more sincere. Clarke hesitates for a second but fishes in her bag for a sharpie, uncapping it and reaching for his bad arm.

"Here," she says, quiet enough it's just for him even though she can feel their audience looking on as she scrawls _Not Octavia_  on his cast, and her number underneath. "In case you get confused again."

"You're giving me your number so I don't call you?" Bellamy asks, a goofy grin on his face.

"No." Clarke can feel how red her cheeks are, but she answers anyway. "I'm giving you my number so if you call me, I know you did it on purpose."

She gives his friends a smile-- ignoring their evident amusement-- and stands. "Take care, guys."

"Bye, Clarke."

"Later."

She's heading toward the nurse's station to let Maya know she's taking off when she hears Miller go, " _Dude_ ," again, and it has her smiling all the way home.

*   *   *

Clarke is filling out some patient paperwork when she hears someone clear their throat. She looks up to find Bellamy shifting his weight back and forth, offering her a sheepish smile. He's wearing what must be a backup pair of glasses and he's even more attractive than he was the night before. Which is really saying something.

"Hey."

"Hi." She grins. "What hurts worse, the hangover or the arm?"

He grins back, relaxing. "The arm. But not by a lot. I just-- wanted to apologize? For ruining your night off."

"Don't worry about it. Kept things interesting." She pauses. "But if you wanted to make it up to me, my next night off is Thursday."

"Yeah?" His grin widens. "I can do Thursday. I'm taking the whole week off, actually. Can't really use a computer with just one hand."

"Let's start with Thursday and see how it goes," she teases.

He's still grinning, so hard Clarke is worried he might hurt himself. Again.

"Sounds good. I'll let you get back to work now, but-- I'll call you later?"

"You've got my number."

"Yeah." He ducks his head. "I definitely do."


End file.
